Dry Years

And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.

John Steinbeck, East of Eden

My one New Year’s resolution was to get back to writing every day.

For me, that means posting here every day. Posting keeps me honest — and humble.

Posting every day means that I’ll probably post 360 of drivel and hopefully 5 days of something worth reading. (You’ll have to keep watching for those good ones.)

Today was a busy day for me. No problem, I thought. I have a ton of drafts available to draw from. (291 to be exact.)

For the past hour, I’ve looked through drafts that date as far back as 2011. I didn’t find a single one that I wanted to post. But here’s what I realized — those years that I thought were dry and hard, when I was helping with my mother and then caring for my father, actually weren’t dry at all. They were rich.

And I had forgotten how rich.

The drought that we call COVID has been the ultimate dry. I feel desiccated.

So lest I forget, here are some photos from a richer time:

This dry time will pass — and none too soon.